Assault on the Black Spire
by Neflame
Summary: A Warmaster is faced with the chance to cut off the head of the Enemy and end his long crusade. [Feedback requested!]


The Warmaster stood, resplendent in his white power armor, overlooking the fields between his cliff and the black fortress corrupting the horizon. The cape flowing down from the shoulders of his armor fluttered in the warm breeze, his eyes narrowing as he regarded that which would become the object of his wrath. The target of his endless march in the Emperor's name. Conquering the fortress could end his crusade and bring about the beginning of peace to the sector. The field stretching before him was an even plain of light dirt and dull grass. The world was a perfect hiding place for the commander of the archenemy's forces. It was an unassuming agrarian world with no real value apart from grain exports. "Do you think they are expecting us, sir?"

The voice jerked the Warmaster from his thoughts and he turned his attention to the captain of his honor guard. The white carapace armor of the honor guard was flecked with a dust from the sand. They all stood at attention, awaiting the Warmaster's word to direct them. "It's possible they never expected anyone to find this place," the Warmaster said. "But we must assume they are prepared nonetheless and prepare accordingly, Wilhelm."

"Of course, sir," captain Wilhelm said with a short nod.

"Let us depart for now. It is time to prepare."

Warmaster Macosdealth turned from the overlooking view and walked away from the vista with his honor guard to the waiting Chimera transport. He cast one final look toward the horizon and the black spires of the fortress that pierced toward the sky before the hatch sealed the transport and it rumbled away, following its path back to the headquarters the Warmaster had set up the day before.

The headquarters was a sea of tents and prefabricated buildings set up on a stretch of plainsland several miles from the field between the vista and the fortress. The sea of tents was divided into sections by flowing regimental standards with men and women in various colored uniforms either milled about or went through rigorous training drills. The Warmaster's destination was the command tent situated at the northeast corner of the camp. The command tent was a series of prefabricated walls fitted together and protected from the elements by a large tent top stretched over it all.

Macosdealth entered the tent to a series of sharp salutes. He gave the sign of the aquilla and the tent returned to routine. "Gather the upper staff," Macosdealth said to his aid. "I will meet them in the conference room shortly."

"Right away, sir."

Macosdealth, accompanied by a few technical aids, moved into his private section of the command tent to have his armor removed. His mind moved cycled through images of the field and the fortress like a slideshow while the adepts went through the small ceremony of removing his power armor. He possessed an eidetic memory, implants in his brain altering how his memory centers operate. It had proved a blessing in allowing him to survey a landscape and recall it perfectly. Yet it was also somewhat of a curse. He remembered every defeat he had suffered and every man dead under his command. Remembering those lives lost had been a burden at first, but Macosdealth had learned to channel those memories into purpose. Such losses were necessary in war, but that did not mean he should discard them like so much refuse.

Macosdealth stepped away from his armor and pulled on his white uniform, retrieving his power sword from the waist of the armor and adding it to his thick belt. A knock came at his door as he finished strapping his boots on. "Enter," he called.

"The generals are awaiting you in the meeting room, Warmaster," his aid said, sticking his head in. "Do you need anything else from me?"

"Just keep everything running smoothly," he said sweeping past his aid.

"Of course, sir."

The meeting room was situated at the back of the command center and was dominated by a large table with a holographic projector set in the middle. As the Warmaster entered, the room stood and saluted while the projector was powered on. "Sit, sit," Macosdealth said, walking to the empty seat at the head of the table. "Now is the time for planning, not ceremony."

"Given our situation," Macosdealth said, the holographic projection solidifying into a map of the field containing the fortress. "One would like to assume that we have both the element of surprise and control of the skies. But we know how crafty our enemy is. We have no reason to assume they aren't expecting to be attack or that they lack the ability to fill the skies. We have before us a flat, open field standing between us and the enemy stronghold."

The map focused on the field and the fortress, the building coming into focus and the terrain of the land coming into view. A series of marker runes materialized on the field, denoting possible deployment areas for the army. "Do we assume there are traps laced throughout the field?" a general wearing Cadian colors asked.

"We can not rule it out," Macosdealth replied. "Which is why we will operate under that assumption and send in the Penal Legions first."

"How many waves?" asked a heavily scarred Mordian general.

"As many as it takes," Macosdealth replied. "The next waves will be our armor followed by troop transports. We will harass the enemy as much as possible using our air power. And we will keep the cavalry units on standby to intercept any infantry the enemy deploys that the tanks cannot engage."

The upper staff all nodded and examined the holographic table to make mental notes on their force deployment. As they looked and talked with one another, an aid handed Macosdealth a dataslate. Looking the notes over, a grin split the Warmaster's handsome face. "Friends, we have a new angle to our attack plan."

"You only grin like that when it's really good news," the Cadian general said.

"Our tech-adepts from the Martial Priesthood have finished the repairs to the Hades Breaching Drill the Death Korp regiment arrived with," Macosdealth said, setting the slate down.

"We had thought it damaged beyond repair," spoke the masked Kriegsman.

"So did I," Macosdealth nodded. "But the tech-priests insisted on attempting to save it."

"So does it change the plan of attack?" the Mordian asked.

"It does, Edris," Macosdealth nodded. "With the drill, Byron's engineers can tunnel under the field and be the first to breach the city."

"My engineering corp has already been working in conjunctions with General Terwillager's engineers to dig a tunnel," Byron said.

"The drill will be quite the surprise," Terwillager said with a grin.

"We will deploy the drill through the tunnel alongside deployment of the Penal Legions," Macosdealth said. "Once the Legions have done their work, the drill with break through to the surface to coincide with the beginning of the full assault. Full details of the operation have been forwarded to you as have copies of the maps. Make sure your officers know their roles inside and out."

The generals each snapped a salute before filing out of the meeting room to brief their senior officers. Macosdealth powered down the projector and left the meeting room for the command center proper. The center was still alive with noise and activity as intelligence officers and technical adepts moved back and forth across the center. The vox bank situated at one of the far walls was blinking and buzzing with activity as drills were coordinated and traffic between the surface and the navy ships above was kept regular and constant.

The noise and movement was an acquired comfort for the Warmaster as he crossed the main floor to his office. The door barely kept out the noise, but he had quickly learned to tune it all out while he worked. The office consisted only of a desk and a simple chair. He did not have the luxury of the grand mansions of more populated worlds, but comforts were no longer important when he was this close to tearing out the heart of the enemy.

Macosdealth let out a heavy sigh and turned from his office. There was nothing for him to do within the walls. No paperwork to handle from useless planetary nobles and officials. His muscled itched and he needed something to occupy him. He turned and let his steps lead him from the command center. He knew Wilhelm could keep the center running in his absence. The young man had an excellent mind for organization.

Macosdealth stepped out into the warm air of the planet. He took a deep breath and looked over the drab tents of the Imperial Guard. The Warmaster needed to give his sword some work. He walked through the tents, making his way to the approximate center of the camp, where he had a feeling most of the inter-regiment activity occurred. A small smile played over his face as he heard the sounds of men fighting and soon found the makeshift ring that had been set up by the men not on drills so they could work out pent-up aggression before big operations.

Macosdealth was surprised to see General Terwillager standing apart from the men and watching with an amused smile on his face. "Enjoying the view, General?" Macosdealth asked.

"Warmaster," Terwillager said, failing to hide his surprise.

"Relax," Macosdealth said, holding up a hand as the Cadian moved to salute. "I find myself in a unique situation and decided a walk was in order."

"Unique?"

"Specifically the lack of any administrative work that my adjutant cannot handle," Macosdealth said. "And I've been in need of a good workout of my sword arm lately."

"If you will permit me, Warmaster," Terwillager said, "I believe I can give you the workout you seek."

"Then let's give the men a good show," the Warmaster said with a grin.

Terwillager gave a deep chuckle before letting out an impressive bellow: "Listen up, you fighting dogs! Put down your toys and attend closely! The Warmaster and myself are going to give you a show, so if you pay attention you could learn something!"

A few minutes later, Macosdealth and Terwillager had taken places in the makeshift ring. Terwillager drew his basket-handled power sword, the field crackling to life as it left the sheath. Macosdealth drew his own blade, a decidedly more ornate sword than Terwillager's weapon that drew snickering and murmurs from the watching soldiers. The murmuring ended when Macosdealth powered on his sword and the blade became wreathed in a field that mimicked flames.

Swords clashed and fields sparked as the two men sparred, the fight recoloring Terwillager's opinion of the Warmaster. He had taken him for another blue-blooded noble's boy who had gotten his position through chance and favors. However, after feeling the weight of Macosdeath's sword arm and looking deep into the man's steely eyes, the Cadian general began to consider that the Warmaster had properly earned his way up the chain. The two men clashed for several minutes before a well-placed feint saw Terwillager's sword spinning out of his hand to the combined applause and cursing the of the watching soldiers.

"That was one hell of a fight, sir," Terwillager said, sheathing his sword as the two men walked away from the fighting ring. "I can say I was not expecting that."

"You probably thought I was some coddled officer's brat," Macosdealth said. "Common mistake, I assure you."

"Where are you from, sir?" Terwillager asked. "If I may?"

"You may," Macosdealth said, "we're just talking now, Terwillager. I grew up in a Schola. Never knew my parents, never had any kind of real family ever come looking me up. You learn a hard work ethic in those places and I took it with me all the way through my career."

The two men continued talking as they walked through the camp. Macosdealth realized that it was the longest conversation he had had with one of his senior officers since he parted from the nine Lord General Militants whose authority lay directly below his own. It felt good to have an honest conversation with another living person. Macosdealth soon parted ways with Terwillager, needing to make final preparations for the coming assault on the enemy stronghold.

Warmaster Macosdealth stood at his command pulpit situated atop a massive Stormblade super-heavy tank named _Tenken_. He stood in his full suit of pure white power armor, gauntlets gripping the sides of the pulpit as he surveyed the field his tank rumbled across. To his elation, they had caught the fortress by surprise with the charge of the Penal Legions. The grassland between the Imperial forces and the fortress had not been trapped, but the Penal troopers had been cut to pieces by the wall-mounted defenses of the fortress and by the better armed heretical soldiers that spilled from the fortress to meet them.

From the vox chatter, Macosdealth gathered that the Hades drill had successfully breached into the fortress, delivering itself and a payload of Krieg Engineers and Grenadiers along with Cadian and Mordian Stormtroopers into the belly of the stronghold. "Drive me to the heart!" had been Macosdeatlth's order to the crew of _Tenken_ when the assault began in full force.

_Tenken_ crushed obstacles beneath it's treads with ease as it rolled through the fortress. Macosdealth realized upon breaching the gates that thinking of it as a city had been accurate. The stronghold was a fortress-city, likely built in mockery of Imperial fortress-cities. Armor was brought to bear against _Tenken_ and Macosdealth watched in grim satisfaction as the blastgun situated on the tank's main turret vaporized the smaller tanks in blasts of blue-white light. From behind his helmet, Macosdealth spotted a citadel in the distance. If the enemy's leader, their so-called "Archon" was anywhere, it could only be there.

Macosdealth jumped from his pulpit, crushing the body of a traitor beneath his boots as he landed before the doors of the citadel. "Come with me, my hounds," he said to his honor guard as they caught up to him. "Let us see the face of our enemy."

With a mighty heave, Macosdealth's power armored form effortlessly shoved the doors of the citadel open. The structure also served as the base of the tallest of the city's spires and the smell of corruption and hopelessness flowed out from the open doors. Macosdealth stepped inside along with his honor guard. The flames of the power field consumed the Warmaster's blade as he readied the ancient sword. His white-clad guards readied their weapons as well, taking up defensive positions around their Warmaster.

They met no resistance, an observed fact that made Macosdealth nervous as he and his guard neared the doors to the central chamber. They stopped before the doors and readied themselves for what could possibly lay beyond. Macosdealth gripped the large, ceremonial door handle and pulled it. The door opened slowly to reveal a grand chamber beyond. It was a large, windowless room devoid of the expected blasphemous scripts with only a large Chaos star wrought from iron high on the opposite wall of the room. The Warmaster and his honor guard entered the room to face the chamber's single occupant.

Macosdealth had not expected a man to await them. He had expected a towering daemon prince or some similar monstrosity, not a man in black. A very pale, almost white, man in a black robe and a horned helmet. The man turned to regard the intruders in his hall. "Distractions," the man said, sweeping an arm at Macosdealth and his guard. The Warmaster's armor was shielded against psychic powers. His guards were not so lucky. With agonized cries, the chests of the honor guard were rent open as they burst from the inside.

"In the Emperor's name," Macosdealth said, bringing his sword up, "your life is mine."

The Warmaster charged his quarry, sword poised for a powerful blow. Macosdealth expected his blade to be met by his opponent's but shock came over him when the man in black _caught_ his flaming sword with his bare hand. Macosdealth met the man's black eyes for a moment before he was shoved backwards by the slender man. "I should have expected to meet a daemonhost here," Macosdealth said, noting how quickly the burned flesh of the hand used to stop his blade repaired itself.

"Daemonhost?" the man laughed. "Oh I assure, I am nothing so simple, Warmaster. It is Warmaster, yes? I suppose...you could call me daemon spawn."

"What?" Macosdealth asked. The two words sent a shudder of disgust through his body and left a found taste on his mind.

"A simple idea, really," the man, though that term may no longer be applicable, said. "A female human playing host to a daemon gives birth to a child. A child that is not entirely human, yet not a daemon. But possessed of incredible power."

The pieces began falling together for Macosdealth. Not human, yet neither daemon nor daemonhost yet possessing the power of a warp-entity. Power enough to unite multiple Chaos warlords under a single leader. A leader that stood grinning before the Warmaster and drawing his own blade. Macosdealth steeled himself to fight against the being enemy prisoners referred to as "Archon Darza."

The two warriors clashed fiercely. Macosdealth was sure that had he not had the servo-compensators of his power armor, his arm would have shattered upon blocking Darza's first blow. But Macosdealth did not let Darza's strength affect his resolve and pushed back, not letting the Chaos Lord keep him on the defensive very long. The amused smirk never left Darza's face and the monster's smug expression only served to fuel Macosdealth's anger and desire to see this foul heretic dead in the Emperor's name.

Flaming blade clashed with the violet field of Darza's blade. The presence of a power sword intrigued Macosdealth and he wondered briefly why Darza did not use a daemonsword or some other corrupted weapon. His thoughts were disrupted when Darza's sword pierced his armor and the Archon grabbed his armor's gorget, tossing him across the room. Macosdealth crashed across the floor, but managed to pick himself up fast enough to deflect a stab aimed for his head. He retaliated with a devastating, two-handed strike that cut Darza from shoulder to hip across his torso.

Darza staggered backward, a look of surprise on his face. Even as the horrendous wound began to knit back together, Darza looked distracted before an ugly grimace graced his handsome face. "Our little dance ends today," Darza said to the kneeling Warmaster before punching the air and rending a small warp-portal into existence. The force of the opening sent a splitting migraine through Macosdealth's mind despite his lack of psychic ability. His vision blurred and the helmet's ocular systems became fuzzy, but he saw enough to notice Darza step into the portal before it swirled closed and left a small cloud of multicolored mist behind.


End file.
